From Out of the Shadows
by Nimbus Llewelyn
Summary: The second in the Wizard in the Shadows series reading 'The Wizard in the Shadows' first is recommended . Harry's back in his own world, and another Big Bad is gearing up for the end of the world. Only my OC's and plot are mine. Full Summary inside.
1. Chapter 1: A New Beginning

**From Out of the Shadows**

**A/N: A warm welcome to the second part of the Wizard in the Shadows series, with particular welcome to those who read and reviewed the prequel. It would be best if you read the prequel, but the short summary is that Harry spent four years in Middle Earth, fighting the good fight after unexpectedly spending rather longer than intended there. He's married Ginny (sorry Harmony shippers, but I stick firmly to Canon) and discovered (very) distant elven heritage, putting him physically speaking in the Aragorn range, or just below. **

**Now he's back in his own world, and discovering a bit more about the heritage and powers of Emrys and Eirian (my two OC's, who happen to be SPOILER ALERT, the grandchildren of Merlin, who was half angel, as the original legends noted (well, supposedly it was a fallen angel, but the difference is fairly academic, since evil is rarely genetic)) while learning about his own past. While he does that, another Big Bad is on the move. One that's after him, and one that has very big fish to fry.**

**A time skip of about eight months to just over a year has happened since the end of The Wizard in the Shadows, and we jump right into the action. For those who want emotional reunion scenes, I may make mention of it in flashbacks, references, and possibly in the drabble series, 'Snippets from the Shadows'.**

**The Wizard In the Shadows series now has a TV Tropes page. I recommend you visit it.  
**

King Elessar I of Gondor and Arnor, born Aragorn, was enjoying life. His realms were at peace, the Southern Provinces that had been taken by Harad had been returned with minimal use of force and he could look out at his rebuilt Kingdom with his wife by his side and smile. Much of this was due to the power, presence and reputation of one man, his Royal Wizard, Harry Potter, also known as the Lord Moristar Morinhetar.

Certainly the Haradrim negotiators had gone very quiet when they had seen Harry casually chatting with the Gondorian negotiators. A few tentative questions about his actions during the War of the Ring later and they quickly signed over the provinces in exchange for trade agreements, non-harassment of the present Haradric population in the region and assistance in rebuilding their own country, rendered mostly barren by the travails of war. No one wanted to antagonise a man who had destroyed entire armies and commanded the elements by a mere effort of will and a gesture. Especially when that man had pledged his allegiance firmly to the North and the West.

All in all, Gondor and Rohan were being rebuilt into extraordinarily prosperous nations, the potential prosperity only increasing when Faramir discovered and promptly annexed a region of volcanic and very fertile soil, nicknamed the bread basket of Mordor by the Rangers who found it. Many former prisoners of war from Harad and Rhun were settling there, being used to the occasionally harsh weather conditions, and preferring it to their semi destitute homelands, and were reporting excellent harvests. Life, Aragorn thought as Arwen kissed him, was good.

But some people are destined for eternally interesting lives. There is an old Chinese curse, apparently apocryphal, that says, 'May you live in interesting times'. Though few knew it, interesting times were coming their way.

As Aragorn turned to kiss his wife once more, he did not see a bright light flare in the sky, then begin to fall. The Gil-Estel had been smashed from the sky, the star of high hope dashed from the heavens. Evil had awoken once more. And it was once more stepping out from the shadows.

As one star fell, two people fell with it. One, the smaller, fell towards the Shire, landing with an almighty crash in the vegetable patch of Mr Frodo Baggins and the larger, complete with ship, plummeted into the Anduin with bone crunching force and an enormous splash.

Adventure never left Middle Earth for all that long.

Meanwhile, in London, Harry Potter and Emrys and Eirian ap Derfel (both had been very pleased when they had been told that they would not have to change their names to blend in) were purposefully walking through Muggle London, all wearing light business suits, which Emrys had been mumbling complaints about for the last three hours, claiming that they were both impractical and uncomfortable. Eirian merely looked very comfortable and very attractive in her pencil skirt and suit, garnering several admiring glances as she passed. In truth, most people were curious about the three tall and good looking people who moved with a certain unconscious predatory grace through the crowd in the city of London.

Consulting his map for the last time, Harry walked into the law firm where Dudley now worked. Emrys and Eirian, rather enjoying their cover role as bodyguards, began carefully scanning the atrium whilst not missing a step in following Harry, though Emrys nearly walked into the receptionists desk, earning some poorly covered snickers from his more spatially aware sister, though they quickly schooled themselves into a professional silence and sternness when Harry began to speak.

"Hi, my name is Harry Potter, and these are two of my associates, Emrys and Eirian ap Derfel. Could you pass that we're here on up to Dudley Dursley please? We haven't seen each other for a while, and I figured turning up on the doorstep might be odd after about eight years, but I want to surprise him," Harry said with a disarming smile.

"Of course sir. I'll tell Mr Dursley he has visitors. Just sit down over there, he should be down in a few moments," the receptionist said, smiling slightly as the Potter charm got to her.

"Thank you very much," Harry said, sitting down on the waiting room chairs. He smiled to himself as Emrys and Eirian settled themselves in chairs next to him. As much as he loved the magic of Middle Earth and the quirkiness of the Magical world, the simple modernity of Muggle London was attractive in and of itself.

For one thing people didn't who he was wherever he went, he thought, as he reached into his pocket to check that his shrunken staff was still in place next to his wand. It was and he shot a look at Emrys he was looking at the elevator with a childish curiosity.

Taking the grandchildren of Merlin to his world had been an interesting experience, the original intention being to get them wands, though it quickly devolved into a sightseeing trip, the two residents of Middle Earth wandering around like curious, oversized and hyperactive toddlers. After the first time, Harry made a mental note not to ever give them coffee again. Ever.

Harry was lost in thought when Emrys jabbed him in the ribs and pointed to the lift. Dudley stepped out of the lift, holding a cup of coffee. He'd changed. For one thing he was about half the width he was when Harry had last seen him.

"Yes Mary? I heard that I have visitors," Dudley said.

"Hey, Big D," Harry called with a grin. Dudley turned around slowly, saw Harry and his companions, then dropped his eyes to his coffee.

"Has Andrew spiked my coffee again? Or are you seeing these people too, Mary?" Dudley said, and Harry laughed out loud, remembering his words upon seeing Ginny. Emrys and Eirian both smothered grins as Harry wandered across.

"They're there, sir," Mary confirmed, a slight smile on her face.

"I'm here Dudley, in the flesh," Harry said, striding up to his cousin, sticking out a hand which Dudley shook dazedly.

"I think that you, I and your friends had better go out for a drink. God knows I need one and you have _a lot _to explain," Dudley said shakily.

Harry clapped a hand on Dudley's shoulder and said, "Cousin, that sounds like a wonderful idea."

They found a bar and Harry ordered four beers, paying upfront.

"So Harry um… where've you been? And why do you have two scary looking bodyguards? He isn't still after you is he?"

"A parallel universe. They aren't my bodyguards, this is just because I wanted them to blend in and I made the mistake of letting them watch both Men in Black films with me. You have no idea how long it took to pry that one," Harry said casually, jabbing a thumb at an unrepentantly grinning Emrys, "away from the sunglasses shop. And then there was the time with the hair dye… which his hair seems to be impervious to. You have no _idea_ how long he sulked for." At this point, Harry decided not to mention that most of the sulking had been done on the hotel room ceiling. "No, he's dead. I've killed him twice since we last met, and I have very good contacts who say he's really gone this time." This last part garnered a few funny looks from the other patrons, but nothing more. Dudley nodded slowly as he digested this news.

"You aren't joking, are you?"

"I forgot to mention that these two are Merlin's grandchildren."

Dudley performed a spit take, then glared at Harry as he wiped up the beer. "Okay, now I know you're joking."

_It is no joke, Dudley son of Vernon, Lawyer for the Hyperion law firm these last 5 years_. _We are the grandchildren of Merlin_, came a quiet female voice in Dudley's head, and he nearly jumped out of his seat. Harry looked at his companions as he saw his cousin's distress and sighed.

"Eirian, knock it off. When did you learn to do that anyway?"

"Galadriel's been teaching me," she said.

_Me too. Eirian's just better at it,_ Emrys said in everyone's head at once, clearly concentrating hard to achieve the same result as his sister.

"So, what have you and the telepathic twins been up to?" Dudley said, raising his eyebrows.

"Saving two worlds at once, discovering that I'm a little more than human. And so are you," Harry said offhandedly.

"Eh?"

Harry cast a discreet muffliato around them and said, "When I was in Middle Earth I discovered that I was becoming a bit faster, stronger, more agile. I put it down to combat experience at the time, because seriously, when a war as vicious as the one we were fighting was going on, you learned fast or you died. But the resident chief wizard, of whom there were only three, but a whole mess of random sorcerous types as well, told me that I was a long way back part elf. Elves are basically human plus, every sense ramped up to incredible levels, and they're stronger, faster, more agile and biologically immortal. Over there, they call people with my amount of elvish blood the Dunedain, sort of higher men. Turns out my wife - I got married by the way - Ginny Weasley, well Potter now, is also part elf, meaning that we're both going to live to about three hundred years old, maybe a little more because we're wizards, and technically, we can put off aging until we die."

"That's cool and all Harry, but why are you telling me this?" Dudley interrupted Harry's babbling.

"Because that blood runs in your veins as well. I got it from mum, you see. It took a visit to Middle Earth to activate it, but now every sense is a fair bit sharper - I only wear these glasses because everyone expects me to and I'm used to them – and I'm in the sort of physical shape that would put Olympic athletes to shame. The blood runs a little less strongly in your veins, but if you want, Eirian can awaken it," Harry said bluntly.

At Dudley's questioning look, he added, "Emrys and Eirian aren't just wizards. Merlin was only half human, and the other half is what we would call an angel, which gives them access to a whole host of powers I couldn't even begin to dream of. One of the reasons we're here is to teach them how to control those powers, and one of the ones Eirian has displayed is unlocking the potential for things to grow and speeding it up. Now, while you might think, sure, sign me up for the superpowers, I have to warn you. You will live to at least two hundred. You will outlive everyone you know, everyone you love, everything you know will change. And your children will probably be magical. I'll have my wife and my brother in law, and these two, along with a whole host of other immortals, but you won't, unless you move to Middle Earth. Are you married by the way?" Harry asked.

"Engaged," Dudley said, waving his engagement ring, a simple gold band set with a sapphire.

"Congratulations! What's she called?"

"Emily. And this is a lot to take in, Harry. I saw you disappear eight years ago and haven't heard a word from you since, until you pop up today with two telepaths who just happen to be part angel wizards, and say that you have discovered you're part immortal and have been fighting two major wars for most of the time you were gone, and now you tell me I can be the same as you," Dudley said, giving Harry a penetrating stare. "I'll need time to think, and what's this you say about being married?"

"You really have changed, haven't you? The Dudley I knew would either have grabbed the offered superpowers without thinking, or refused it on the grounds of magic being evil," Harry said, leaning back in his seat and regarding Dudley carefully.

"As for the marriage, we got married eight months ago. We're doing it again over here, mostly because I think my mother in law would kill me if she didn't get the chance to organise our wedding. Do you and your doubtless lovely fiancée want to come? I would invite Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but I doubt that either could survive that long with so many wizards, let alone Vernon the revelation that I'm a multi-millionaire," Harry chuckled, then added cheerfully, "He'd have a heart attack."

"All the more reason to invite him," Dudley muttered. At Harry's raised eyebrow, he elaborated reluctantly. "I re-evaluated my life after you left, and started studying hard and exercising more. When I finished university, he wanted me to follow him into Grunnings, and wasn't pleased when I told him I wanted to do law and help people and that selling drills sounded like my idea of hell. He said I was a nancy boy and no son of his. I said that I'd rather have your parents," he said, nodding at Harry, "because they died to protect you, whereas I doubt he would have lifted a finger. Then he went a strange shade of purple, made some weird noises and kicked me out of the house."

Harry looked at him for a long moment, then burst into delighted laughter, reaching over to clap Dudley vigorously on the shoulder. "I never thought I'd say this, but _well done_ Dudley!"

"You have a magnificent pair of brass balls on you to stand up to a bastard like your father like that," Emrys said, admiration in his voice as he reached across to shake a surprised Dudley's hand.

Eirian dipped her head in respect and said in his head, _Bravely done, Dudley Evans. I know what it must have cost you to say that._

_My name's Dudley Dursley_, Dudley replied in surprise, automatically thinking his reply and not speaking it.

_Your father kicked you out. He doesn't deserve a child like you to carry on his name. Besides, Evans is a nicer name and it suits who you are now, rather than who you were,_ Eirian replied firmly, and Dudley suddenly got a sense of how truly old the power behind this pretty young woman opposite him was, and how wise beyond her years she had become.

"Thanks. You realise I'll have to change all my business cards now," he said dryly.

"A small price to pay for so great a discovery," Eirian said warmly, Emrys nodding his agreement.

"An explanation for the non-telepath sometime this century would be nice," Harry said.

Dudley gave Harry a short explanation of what had just passed between them, and Harry nodded in firm agreement. "Dudley Evans sounds a lot better. Uncle Vernon was always a world class shit. Where's he living now?"

"You're not going to turn him into a frog are you? I mean, he may be a wanker, but he's still my dad," Dudley asked warily.

"No, though now you mention it, that idea has some merit… No, I was merely planning to planning to stick a self-destructing note through the letter box that says, 'I'm richer than you, happier than you and more important than you'll ever be. Hoping you choke on your own bile and die you fat and bitter old wanker, a complete lack of love from Harry'. Or just 'ha ha ha, loser,'" Harry said.

Dudley looked at him for a long moment, then looked at Eirian. "How old is he? Five?"

"Sometimes it feels that way. His godfather is worse," Eirian said, rolling her eyes.

"Yet you still love him enough to date him, which doesn't say much for your taste," Emrys sniped, having become worryingly interested in the concept of dating after watching one muggle soap opera too many.

"Says the man who's going out with a woman who insults him every time he walks in the room," Eirian replied smoothly as the two settled into the traditional patterns of a good sibling argument. Harry and Dudley shared a look, then shrugged simultaneously.

"What do you do these days anyway?" Harry asked, tuning out the bickering siblings.

"I'm a lawyer for the Hyperion law firm. We help the helpless is our motto, and we help out good people in tight spots. Unfortunately this means cash is sometimes a bit tight because we take a lot of _pro bono _cases and most of our clients aren't exactly super rich, but… it's worth it," Dudley said, taking a drink.

"My cousin, the reformed bully, fighting the good fight," Harry smiled, then got a cheque book and scribbled out an amount, sliding it across to Dudley whose eyes bugged at the numbers on it.

"Harry… you can't be serious," he breathed.

"Dudley, what part of 'multi-millionaire' did you not get? Besides, the salary I get as Royal Wizard for Gondor, one of the Kingdoms of Middle Earth, and what I get as a part time freelance Auror and demon killer and consultant for the Ministry of Magic, is more than enough to cover my needs. Trust me, fighting the good fight living on nothing but your nerves and surviving on your wits sounds romantic, but really, without some serious backing, you won't get very far. Consider it my way of saying sorry for dropping in on you suddenly after eight years and dropping all this chaos into your lap, and an early wedding gift," Harry said firmly.

"I… thank you, Harry. This is more than I deserve after h-" Dudley said before Harry interrupted.

"Don't start on the guilt trip. You aren't the mentally weak, fat and stupid bully who tormented me. You've become a good - maybe even a great - man. One I'm proud to say I'm related to," Harry said firmly.

Dudley nodded thankfully, and the two fell to cheerfully chatting about everything and nothing whilst Emrys and Eirian continued to bicker. And while they did that, none of them noticed the tall man with light brown hair flecked with grey, and light green eyes, wearing casual if slightly old fashioned clothing smile and pay for his drink, disappearing silently. Soon after, a tall woman with flowing honey blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, wearing a t shirt and jeans that drew the eye to some rather pleasing curves (though the steel in those eyes spoke of a person who was not to be trifled with), followed him out the door, and found him waiting just across the street.

He chuckled and said with a slight lilt to his accent that spoke of the Welsh valleys, "As ever, you wear your years far better than I do, my love."

"You don't fool me, old flatterer, you only look anything but young because you choose to. And we both know you only do that to pass as respectable," she replied dryly. "So, what do you make of them?"

"She is ready, or almost. He is not. Not yet. However, I am certain that their father would be proud of them, and what they have accomplished so far," he reflected.

"I know what their grandmother thinks, but what about their grandfather? Of course, far be it from him ever to tell anyone what he is thinking," the woman said sarcastically, causing her companion to burst out in merry laughter.

"Of course he never says what he's thinking, where would be the fun otherwise?" the man said with amusement lacing his voice.

His companion made a disgusted sound and rolled her eyes. "So what are you going to do?" She asked.

Anyone who looked closely at the man at that moment might have seen his eyes flash gold temporarily. "Me? Nothing. I suspect they will find trouble soon enough, though," he said mysteriously.

"Insufferable man," she grumbled, kissing him on the cheek.

He merely smiled mysteriously and said, "Of course."


	2. Chapter 2: Wands and their Makers

**SeanHicks4: Sort of a spaceship. Consider it a magical repurposed sea ship. Things would be easier if you opened up your PM feature, it's blocked currently. And yes, the Angel reference was very intentional. I thought of calling the firm Wolfram & Hart (though that name may crop up), but I decided against it.**

**The same (about PM's) goes for jau0062.**

**A relatively short chapter storywise, with most of it being taken up by the Dramatis Personae, which will hopefully help you (and me) keep track of the cast, whilst revealing some new information on the cast. This is because I am dead tired after exams and several weeks of getting about 5.5 to 6.5 hours of sleep a night and I'm working on a couple of other projects. Plus, you know, Real Life.**

**That said, I am working on the third part in the series (by working on, I mean I have a very basic idea) and on a prequel. You may now start squeeing with joy. Preferably via the moderately sized and colourful button at the bottom of the page. If you're confused about something, want a plot point explained (unless it's a spoilery one. Then you can ask, but you'll only get a very vague and infuriating answer) or want to criticise something (every chapter of this is posted totally unbeta'd, save what the eternally patient and kind OldStoneface occasionally points out after it's posted) so there is decent chance that I've made a spelling/grammar/continuity error, so please point it out if you see it) feel free to criticise. Everyone has a right to an opinion, but please make it **_**constructive**_** and **_**explain**_** your criticisms. If you have a problem, I want to understand it. Mere flames only amuse me and will be replied to with maximum prejudice. **

Spiders, giant ones, never ending webs, cold paralysing venom, burning fires of evil, the heat of a volcano and the siren song of the One Ring. These filled the dreams of Frodo Baggins, but they were mostly held at bay by the magic in his golden-red finger, the nightmares being forced to skulk in the shadows of his mind rather than run rampant through the whole of it. This made them bearable, if only just. He mostly spent his days outside, basking in the sun, trying to purge the darkness from his very being, thankful that he would not be called on any adventures and looking forward to Gandalf's visits.

While the sunlight made it easier, the pain was still present, and Frodo, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he needed another sort of light. The light of the elves and the Maia. As he resolved, regretfully, to pack and leave for Rivendell as soon as possible, a loud whistling noise came from outside, swiftly followed by an enormous crash. Leaping out of bed, he grabbed Sting, unsheathed it and was relieved to see that it wasn't glowing. That did not mean that there wasn't something worse than an Orc outside, but Frodo wasn't too bothered, merely somewhat cautious. He had faced the eye of Sauron, he had journeyed into the heart of Mordor itself and whatever had fallen was unlikely to be worse. Picking up the vial of Galadriel, he made his way to the door.

As he stepped outside, he froze as he saw a shadowy figure carrying a lantern. Then he breathed a sigh of relief as the light revealed its bearer to be Sam, sword at hip.

"Frodo!" Sam whispered in relief. "I thought whatever it was that's out there had got you!"

"I'm fine Sam. I just wish these adventures wouldn't keep falling into my lap. Or in this case, my vegetable patch," Frodo said wearily. "Come on, let's take a look."

As they reached the edge of the crater, Frodo's lips twitched as he heard Sam mutter, "I only planted those parsnips yesterday."

The dust was thick but it had mostly cleared by the time the two hobbits cautiously looked over the edge and got the shock of their lives. Because in the crater was a beautiful young woman, no, Frodo realised as he got a closer look, an _elf_. As he scrambled down beside her, he noted several broken bones, gashes and bruises, not all of which had come from the fall.

"Sam, help me," he called, and his loyal gardener followed him in.

"Good grief, an elf woman! Where did she come from?" Sam said, genuinely puzzled. Even in Middle Earth, it was rare for beautiful women to fall literally out of the sky and into the laps of world weary and tormented bachelors. Or their vegetable patches, as the case may be.

"And an injured one as well. Send someone to Buckland and to Pippin's house, then a message on to Bree. If there are any Rangers there, ask one here in my name. Meanwhile, I'll use that mirror Harry gave us to contact him," Frodo said, then looked up and gasped. "As for where she came from, Sam, look up."

Sam looked up and his eyes widened. The Gil-Estel was gone.

"Frodo… who _is _she?" He asked as he helped lift her.

"I don't know, Sam. Or I'm not sure. But if she is who I think she is, then things are very, very bad," Frodo said grimly.

"Who do you think she is?"

"Elwing. The wife of Earendil and Lord Elrond's mother. And if she is here and the Gil-Estel is no longer in the skies… it means that the wars of the First Age are returning. Valar help us Sam, a second War of Wrath is coming!" Frodo said fear in his voice.

Sam blinked, then steadied himself. No one who looked at him now could deny that Samwise Gamgee would stand against all comers, however powerful they may be, without so much as batting an eyelid.

"Then we'd best get ready."

**The City of Osigiliath, Gondor**

Halfway across the world, guardsman Morcar Torsson was on sentry duty, looking out over the Anduin. He preferred the honesty that came with rebuilding Osgiliath, the quiet simplicity as compared to the vicious court intrigues and plots he heard each day. On the other hand, he thought, life was undeniably easier in the city, and generally more interesting. Still, on balance, he liked it better out here.

Out here, he didn't have to deal with the guilty look Lord Boromir got whenever he saw him. He'd eventually managed to pry the reason why out of one the Rohirric soldiers. Apparently when he was young, Boromir had learned horseback combat in Rohan, and his father, Thor, had been assigned to guard him, and Boromir had frozen at the wrong moment. At first he had been angry at Boromir, but then, after much thought, he understood. And forgave him, as hard it was. Boromir had looked after him, and made sure he did well in life, and Morcar wanted to thank and tell him he forgave him. Not that that was easy, because Lord Boromir had his duties as a Steward to contend with these days. Maybe he could request an audience when he next returned to Minas Tirith.

His mind made up, Morcar looked out of the river watching for movement as moonlight played on it. Then he frowned, and heard a loud whistling noise, and a crackling sound, like flames. He looked up and swore furiously. An enormous ship was falling out of the sky and landed in the Anduin maybe a kilometre upstream with a roar of sound and an incredible splash. As the water settled, the flames on the ship mostly settled into smoke, and Morcar could vaguely see a prone figure on board. He snapped out of his shock and rang the warning bell like there was no tomorrow.

Not ten minutes later, all the garrison was assembled and watching as Morcar, having divested himself of most of his armour, rowed out with several others and the garrison commander, Beregond (who had decided that he wanted to be posted outside the city for once) to the stricken ship. It was a beautiful ship, or had been once. Where it wasn't marred with ash, soot and burn marks, the wood was white and smooth, gleaming in the moonlight with a swan figurehead on the prow. The sails were mostly burnt, and on the side Morcar could see the letters 'V-I-N-G' engraved, before a large burnt patch that obscured the rest of the name.

Beregond hurled a grappling line over the side and climbed up first, followed by Morcar and two other soldiers. Swords drawn, they investigated the apparently empty ship. It was hard to see through the smoke, but one of the other soldiers spotted the prone man and went to his aid. As he did, an agonised voice snarled, "_Avada Kedavra_!" and a flash of green light hit the man, and he fell, immediately dead. Then, limping and clutching his side, a black cloaked figure came out of the smoke, coughing and pointing a wand. Morcar's blood froze. A wizard, and a dark one.

He had fought at the Battle of Pelennor Fields and at the Morannon, and he had seen the deity like fury unleashed by Witches and Wizards. And those had been the ones on the same side as him. He had heard the tales of the Black Wizard's enemies, and had seen the tenth Wraith in battle, and he had breathed a sigh of relief that he had not been forced to fight them. The wizard looked at them from beneath his cowl, and hissed, "Die muggles, for the Iron Crown and the Dark Lord, die in agony!" With that, he hurled a poisonous looking dark red curse at Beregond, who seemed transfixed. For Morcar, time slowed, and he threw up his left hand, causing a silvery bubble to appear before them, deflecting the curse. All, Morcar in particular, were shocked.

The Dark Wizard broke the silence first. "So, one with power. I will make you an offer. Join the Iron Crown, and I will spare you. The Dark Lord will reward you with power and prestige beyond your wildest dreams if you serve him."

"It's tempting. But my oath is to Gondor and the King," Morcar said, getting over his shock, and stepping forward fast, swinging his sword in one measured two handed strike, cutting the man's wand hand cleanly off before had a chance to respond. As the Dark Wizard collapsed, howling in agony, Beregond clapped Morcar on the shoulder.

"Well done soldier, now, tend to the injured man, find out who he is. We'll have to see what the Royal Wizard makes of your abilities," Beregond said, and Morcar just caught the mutter of, "if he's actually there."

As Beregond and the others set about interrogating the fallen dark wizard, Morcar bent down beside the prone figure, an elf, but more heavily built than most, like the sons of Elrond. Morcar regarded him. His armour was finely made, and strong, but covered in rents and dents, scorched and melted in places, and there was something that had once been a fine crown of some sort, though whatever gem had been set in it was gone, leaving a torn and battered ruin behind. His sword, which lay beside him, was covered in blood, presumably from the dark wizard currently being interrogated.

"Who are you?" Morcar muttered, more out of surprise than expectation of an answer, as he reached for some clean cloth to bind his wounds. He was astonished to get an answer.

"… I… am… Earendil," the elf said with difficulty, eyes opening briefly, before he fell unconscious once more. Morcar blinked and continued to bind his wounds, trying to remember where he had heard the name before.

"You get anything out of the victim?" Beregond asked, leaving the sullenly tied and gagged dark wizard behind, removing the wand from the detached hand with a disgusted grimace.

"Only his name. Earendil, if that means anything to you, sir," Morcar said, and was rewarded with his captain going abruptly very white.

"You're certain?"

"Yes sir."

"Valar help us," Beregond murmured. Then he spoke aloud once more. "All right. I'll have a detachment moor this ship and try and repair it. You, I, Earendil, our captive and an escort will make for Minas Tirith. Now."

Ten minutes later, Morcar found himself bundled onto a horse and galloping towards Minas Tirith. Though he could not hear much over the pounding of the galloping horses, he could see Earendil, who was being carried by one of the more experienced riders, wincing in agony. What in the world had been unleashed? He thought. Just what was coming. When they arrived at the city, and were immediately taken to the Houses of Healing, Morcar noticed the almost tangible worry of the King, even behind his mask of congratulation.

The Queen's reaction had been less controlled, a lot of shocked sounding words in Sindarin spilling from her mouth on seeing Earendil. Then a grimmer expression on seeing the one handed man. Afterwards, the Steward came in, wincing slightly on seeing Morcar, then spoke to the King and Queen in a hushed whisper. Then Beregond spoke up.

"My Lords and Lady, Guardsman Morcar displayed some sort of ability in taking the prisoner. Magical ability. Is one of the wizards available to help him understand and explore this ability?"

The King shook his head. "All of them are in their own world. Even Emrys and Eirian, who have gone to learn better their heritage and power and Gandalf has gone with them. I believe they are dealing with personal affairs over there. I, Arwen and Boromir had planned to go there anyway. I am sure Guardsman Morcar will be a fine addition to the Royal Escort."

"Aragorn," the Steward said unhappily.

"It has to be done, Boromir. You cannot run from this, and it should be you who tells him just whose blood runs in his veins," the King said grimly.

"Aye, my Lord," the Steward said heavily, then, turning to Morcar said. "Come on lad. I have some things to explain to you. Such as who your father really was. Or was before he was reborn into this world."

**Magical London:**

Dudley had bidden them all good day and left, looking thoughtful, so Harry took the opportunity to drag Eirian and Emrys to Diagon Alley. Just before he entered the Leaky Cauldron, he flipped up a dark green cloak, hiding his face. With a quick nod to Tom, he made his way through, tapping the bricks on the wall, which promptly moved out of the way.

"Come on," he said, setting a brisk pace as he strode towards Ollivander's, forcibly dragging a gawping Emrys along by magic.

When the walked in, Harry flipped down his hood.

"Hello Mr Ollivander," he said with a smile as the elderly shopkeeper walked towards them.

"Ah, Mr Potter, I heard of your return. What wand do you use these days, if I may ask?"

Harry grinned and produced the Phoenix and Holly wand. Ollivander's eyes widened and he almost snatched the wand away from Harry.

"Impossible," he breathed, then he looked at Harry. "Then again, you have shown time and time again that the impossible is nothing to you. How did you do it?"

Harry paused, then decided that Ollivander could be trusted. "I am the master of the Elder Wand."

Ollivander gazed at him in wonder, then said, "It is _real_?"

"And hidden," Harry said firmly. "I've brought these two for their first wands. Emrys, Eirian, this is Mr Ollivander, the best wandmaker in Britain, if not the world."

The two bowed deeply, which was unsurprising, given their new understanding of the mysteries of magic and the vagaries of wandlore (Hermione had given a lecture after Eirian had asked about her wand). Also, in Dunland, artificers were respected, for while many men could learn the sword, few had the ability to create fine swords and works of beauty. Aesthetics aside, a wandsmith was worthy of even more respect than a blacksmith.

"We are honoured, Mr Ollivander," Eirian said respectfully.

"Not at all, Ma'am. I am the one who is honoured to be in the presence of the children of Merlin," Ollivander said, looking at them properly for the first time.

Harry whipped his head round and snapped, "How do you know?"

Completely unperturbed, Ollivander said, "Because their grandfather was in here last week. He gave me their names and a basic description."

Three jaws dropped.

"He also said to mention that he was keeping an eye on them," Ollivander said calmly.

Harry broke the ensuring silence. "So. Merlin is alive and being covert about it. Anything else?" he said with a false calm, mind racing as to the implications.

"No Mr Potter, he said nothing else. He merely wished me to examine his wand, a magnificent piece of work, ten inches long and firm, yet supple, though I did not recognise the wood used. He used it with immense skill and efficiency, as is to be expected, and it showed signs of regular cleaning," Ollivander said, blithely unaware of Harry's desperate attempts not to laugh and Emrys and Eirian's identical nauseated expressions.

"Now, we must measure these two for their wands," he said, tape measure levitating and measuring various body parts (Harry had never puzzled out why the width of the nose was relevant), and he was most amused at Emrys' blushes when it took an inside leg measurement, and Eirian's when it measured her bust. Ollivander grabbed a wand and handed it to Emrys. "Which hand is your wand hand?"

Emrys stuck out his right hand. Ollivander gave him the wand, "Cherry and unicorn hair, 8 inches," he said, then snatching it away almost as soon as he touched it. This continued for some time, with much of Ollivander's shop catching fire, being swamped by waves and spontaneous rainstorms, until Ollivander went into the very depths of his store and took out a wand of a light silver wood that was 9 and a quarter inches long. "Try this one," he said, without naming the wood or the core.

Emrys half-heartedly waved it, convinced it wouldn't work, then was shocked when he was outlined in a halo of silver light. "It feels… like it's mine."

"That is because it has chosen you, child of Merlin. The wand chooses the wizard. This is very interesting," Ollivander said, eyeing the wand, "Merlin left the wood of this wand behind when he visited. He named it Telperion, but I have never seen the wood before, so I surmise he found it on his travels. The core is phoenix feather. It will be very good for combat wizardry and transfiguration, very much an Auror's wand." He added as Emrys spun it like a gunslinger.

Harry's eyebrows immediately shot into his hair line. "Bloody hell!"

"I take it you know what it is, Mr Potter?" Ollivander said, eyeing Harry.

"Maybe. I'll withhold judgement for a moment, but if it is what I think it is…" Harry said slowly, eyeing the wand as if it were a nuclear bomb. Certainly, it almost looked as if it were emanating a slight amount of light. Ollivander examined him for another moment, before looking away.

"Now, Miss Eirian, your wand hand?"

She stuck out her right hand, and Ollivander placed a wand in it. "Cherry and dragon heartstring," then snatched away almost as soon as she waved it. This went on for some time before Harry cleared his throat.

"Mr Ollivander, did Merlin leave another piece of wood? It would probably have been golden, and he would have called it Laurelin," Harry said.

"Yes he did, Mr Potter," Ollivander said, giving Harry a penetrating look. Harry replied with a well-practised poker face. The elderly wand maker went into the back of the shop.

"Harry," Eirian asked, Emrys being entranced with his new wand, "what's going on?"

"If I'm correct, and I really think I am, your grandfather is a very cunning old man. You are a part of this world as much as you are a part of Middle Earth, and he's provided wand wood based on that," Harry said quietly.

Eirian was about to ask what wood it was, when Ollivander returned with a wand made from golden wood which was longer and slimmer than Emrys'. It too seemed to glow.

"Try this one, Miss Eirian. It has a unicorn hair core. Merlin named the wood as being from a tree named Laurelin," he said, and Harry nodded slowly. Eirian picked up the wand and was outlined in a golden-white glow.

"Good god," Harry said quietly. "Your wands are made from whatever was left of the Two Trees of Valinor." He chuckled. "I suppose it makes sense that two impossible people should have equally impossible wands." He turned to Ollivander. "Mr Ollivander, you've just handed over two wands made from the wood of Two Trees that stood before the sun and the moon, and functioned as the light of the world before their destruction. No mortal or immortal save a select few has even seen them in living memory. Maybe only one of the Valar, what we would call Archangels, and Merlin presumably, has even touched them," Harry said, and Mr Ollivander's eyes nearly popped out.

"I suspected they were artefacts of great power when I first received them, but I never imagined…" he whispered in awe, trailing off. Then he simply looked at Harry and said, "Great and Terrible things, Mr Potter. Terrible yes, but great. I will watch you with interest Mr Potter. Few men so regularly pull off the impossible like you do _Moristar_," he said, and for the briefest moment, Harry swore he felt a touch of something profoundly alien about Mr Ollivander, then dismissed it.

"Thank you Mr Ollivander. I also wanted you to have a look at this," he said, taking out his staff and resizing it. "So far I know that it channels magic just as easily as my wand, and almost as easily without my wand set in it, and it seems to be a little smoother for the more spectacular spells and warding magic, but I want to know what you make of its full capabilities."

Ollivander took it carefully, and examined it, putting on a pair of reading glasses. "Holly wood, though with a somewhat purer and more magical tone than the usual wood I receive for wand making," he said with a hint of professional admiration, looked up briefly and said, "If you could pass on some of the wood that made this, and other woods from the same area, I would be very grateful."

Then he returned to the examination before Harry could reply. "Six feet long, with a finely cut emerald in the top that seems equally balanced in application between defensive and offensive magic, though is a possible bias to offensive magic, and various runes and sigils of control and binding, though some are of a purpose I do not recognise, possibly to reinforce the others. I suspect the symbology is why it feels attuned to warding magic, and the control is to reinforce the connection to your wand and the channelling of magic." He spun the staff in what looked like a quick combat form, moving so fast and smoothly that Emrys nodded slowly out of respect, then flicked it into the air and balanced it on a finger as it fell, all in one smooth movement. It didn't even wobble.

"Perfectly balanced, and I suspect equally useful to stove in skulls as to fire off spells. It's smooth, but rough enough to provide a comfortable grip. The gem is well set, not relying on the shoddy use of a permanent sticking charm… all in all, very fine work, though the work of more than one person I suspect. No one living has such skill in gem cutting, Ancient Runes and Magical Symbols, some of which I cannot identify, and wood carving all together," he stated with a craftsman's certainty.

"Besides, the style of the carving is utterly alien in places, though in others it has hints of my own style and that of the late Gregorovitch, with a possible Welsh and Irish-American influence, but predominantly someone else's personal style entirely. The gem cutting and setting is also too good for any wizard. This is a masterpiece, Mr Potter, and I suggest you look after it," he said, handing it back reverently. "It is not as perfect as it could be, suggesting that at least some of the team involved is just starting, but still, very, very good. Some people who cared for you a great deal made you that staff, Mr Potter. May I meet them?"

Harry blinked in surprise at Ollivander's sudden sharp question. "You've already met one, maybe two if he got the help I think he did on the symbols, and the other two are coming to my wedding, though it's their choice if they want to talk to you about it. Do you want to come?"

Ollivander thought for a moment, then smiled, "I would be delighted, Mr Potter."

"I'll send you an invite," Harry promised, shrinking the staff and pocketing it again, then paying for the wands as Emrys and Eirian thanked the wandmaker. "Thanks for everything."

"Oh, Mr Potter, one last thing, what does the inscription mean?"

"It means, '_I am wielded by the man who walks in the shadows to protect the light, the Darkness Slayer. Not all that is dark is evil, for light cannot exist without shadow_," Harry said. "Good day to you, Mr Ollivander."

As they left the shop, Harry was deep in thought. It was not impossible that his name among the elves had found its way around at least part of Wizarding society already, and Mr Ollivander had shown himself to be astonishingly perceptive and well capable of picking up and remembering almost every piece of interesting information in the past.

"That man was deeply odd. Even by this world's standards," Emrys said.

"Something felt off about him. Not bad, just as if he didn't quite belong," Eirian said thoughtfully.

Harry muttered, "You got that right."

Really, Harry thought idly, the man was a born spymaster. Maybe one of his relatives might be interested in working for Aragorn. Faramir was a decent spymaster, and the various Rangers made excellent spies, but all of them had other duties, and Harry was certain that Harad and Umbar at least would be interested in taking the measure of the new King of Gondor and Arnor via espionage.

Still, he had other business to attend to, and there was no crisis in Middle Earth. There would be one here, however, if Emrys and Eirian were allowed to wander around unsupervised. The last time that had happened, 12 Grimmauld Place had been filled with purple custard, some very confused Great White sharks and a small flock of canaries.

"Next stop, Weasley Wizard Wheezes!"

**A/N: The wand trees are the Two Trees of Valinor. Yes, there is something special about Ollivander. No, I'm not telling, but it may be significant in the third part of the series (yes, there will be a third in this series. Yes, there will also be a prequel). The plot thickens quickly (much like the purple custard of 12 Grimmauld Place), and will become rather deeper (again, like the custard). And hopefully, it's a little confusing (like the purple cust – that gag's getting old isn't it?)**

**Now, by request, the cast list. Note that plenty of characters will appear that aren't on the cast list. If I named everyone, complete with profile, this story would be about as long as the Bible, complete with the Apocrypha.**

**Dramatis Personae (the cast):**

**Harry Potter:**** An extremely powerful wizard and the chief protagonist of this story. Descendant of Maedhros Feanorion and Godric Gryffindor. Current Royal Wizard of Gondor and Arnor. Close to the Rohirric royal family. Has been named Elf-Friend. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Also known as Moristar (Black Wizard) among other titles, the most recent of which is the Darkness Slayer. Highly ccomplished swordsman and duellist, and bane of the Nazgul. Wielder of the Sword of Gryffindor. Husband of Ginny Potter. Favours fire magic. Has died twice. It didn't stick either time.**

**Ginny Potter (née Weasley):**** A powerful witch. Descendant of Maglor Feanorion. Talented swordswoman and noted as only the fourth person in recent times to wield the Sword of Gryffindor in battle, (the other three being Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and the deceased Steward Denethor). Wife of Harry Potter. Favours wind magic. Known as the Firebrand for her display at the Morannon. Very good at Bat Bogey hexes.**

**Ron Weasley:**** A powerful wizard. Descendant of Maglor Feanorion. Capable and physically powerful swordsman and a veteran senior Auror. Husband of Hermione Granger. Favours earth magic.**

**Hermione Granger-Weasley:**** A powerful witch. Solid swordswoman, favours subtle and obscure magic. Skilled combatant, makes up for power deficit (note: This is compared to Harry Potter, who has a ridiculous amount of raw power, even by Wizarding standards. Compared to most witches and wizards, she is distinctly above average power wise) with skilful use of her power and extreme intelligence. Considered the smartest witch of her age. Works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Favours water magic.**

**Sirius Black:**** Powerful and experienced wizard. Very capable swordsman (old Pureblood families give their sons basic swordsmanship lessons) and Dog animagus. Looks about 30, is actually about 43. Don't ask us how, we're not entirely sure, but it is believed that the dungeons of Saruman had a time stretching enchantment that slowed the passage of time. Certainly, no one else has any better ideas and Saruman's too dead to tell anything. Impulsive, occasionally short tempered, but fun loving and endearingly loyal.**

**King Aragorn I Elessar of Gondor and Arnor also known as Strider, Wingfoot, Thorongil, the heir of Isildur and too many other names to mention because it gets boring:**** A king. Legendary Dunedain warrior descended from Elendil, highly intelligent and a talented commander (particularly shown under the alias of Thorongil), possibly the best swordsman of the late third age/early fourth age. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Favours speed and agility over pure power (though power is present). A very skilled Healer trained by Elrond of Rivendell with extensive practice, allied to the natural (and mysterious) gifts of his bloodline. Is around 89 and doesn't even look half that, to general jealousy. Along with his marriage to Arwen, all this has spawned a saying: 'Lucky as a King'. **

**Boromir II, Steward and Captain-General of Gondor:**** A Steward. Highly skilled and physically powerful swordsman, capable of trading blows with the intelligent troll sub species, the Olog-Hai and coming off the better. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. An extremely talented commander and man manager, and an able administrator, with a shrewd eye for opportunities and people. Takes merciless advantage of the fact people underestimate him in intellectual pursuits. Despises paperwork with a fiery passion. Very close friend of the Potter family. Yet to find a woman to capture his heart, much to everyone else's amusement.**

**Theodred, Crown Prince of Rohan and Marshal of the West-Mark: ****A Prince. Natural horseman, skilled swordsman with wiry strength, allowing him to gain a momentary advantage against opponents who judge based on appearances. A very capable commander, but generally defers to his father or Eomer as superior strategists. A deeply skilled politician when required to be, with a natural air of command. Kind and well-meaning with carefully hidden steel, comparisons have been made (by Harry, when slightly drunk) to Albus Dumbledore. A very good friend to the Potter family, much like the rest of the Royal Family of Rohan. Currently courting the Lady Morwen of Gondor. Possibly the only person Sir Emrys Ap Derfel will reliably listen to (aside from his sister, but as every little brother knows, big sisters **_**don't count**_**). And even then, that is doubtful, as Sir Emrys has shown a natural talent for sidling away from seemingly binding orders when they don't suit him.**

**For instance, the order not to breathe a word about the royal faceplant on the Pelennor Fields, when Emrys was forbidden by Theodred from breathing a word of what happened (namely Theodred looking noble and heroic as he charged to his father's aid, before falling flat on his face)? Emrys wrote down an account, in typical heroic verse. Which Harry read out at a feast. Loudly. Theodred has yet to entirely live this down.**

**King Théoden of Rohan**_**:**_** Another King. Skilled horseman, and still a very capable fighter despite his advancing years. Aragorn, Denethor (who died soon after), Earnur (long dead in his second encounter) and he are the only non-magical humans who have duelled the Witch King and survived, and is the Uncle of Eowyn of Rohan, who killed the creature in mortal combat.**

**Eomer, Prince of Rohan and Marshal of the Eastmark:**** Another Prince. Almost on par with Boromir as a strategist and general, certainly when in command of cavalry. Extremely skilled horseman and swordsman. Husband of Princess Lothiriel. Designated Butt Monkey. **

**Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Greenwood the Great (a.k.a. Mirkwood, but minus most of the spiders):**** Yet another Prince. An irritatingly skilled archer, excellent with his long knives and possessed of a somewhat snarky sense of humour. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. A bachelor (so far) and Spider Slayer extraordinaire, and friend of Gimli son of Gloin, being the closest thing to a Dwarf-friend since Celebrimbor of Hollin (and that didn't go so well…). **

**Lord Gimli son of Gloin:**** A Dwarf Lord. A skilled axedwarf, with speed, grace and power that bely his build. For member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Another snarky bachelor. Named Elf-Friend by Legolas.**

**Queen Arwen of Gondor and Arnor:**** A Queen. Nicknamed 'the beautiful' by her subjects, all of whom are masters of stating the obvious. Beautiful as the stars and just as deadly up close. Also renowned for her wisdom, if only for the assumption that some of her dad has rubbed off on her. One of the main reasons the saying 'Lucky as a King' was spawned. None who see her are minded to disagree.**

**Maglor Feanorion:**** An Elf Lord. One of the oldest elves still alive, and ancestor to the Weasley Family. An incredible singer, a total Badass (and so would you be, if you'd fought in the War of Wrath, taking on the equivalent of Fallen Angels on a regular basis) and quite a nice guy. The calmest and kindest of the Feanorions… which isn't saying much. Raised Elrond and Elros. Has a (well hidden) guilt complex the size of Gondor and daddy issues which are approximately the size of Rohan (with Feanor for a father, this is less than surprising). With the help of his relatives and friends, he is steadily getting over these. His Papa Wolf instincts have to be seen to be believed. **

**Earendil Tuorion, Captain of Vingilot:**** A human who chose to be one of the Elves (it was mortality or wife. He chose wife). Father of Elrond and Elros. May have a couple of bones to pick with Maglor and Maedhros. Sailed to Valinor to plead for the Valar's aid against Morgoth, kicking off the War of Wrath and possibly the most Badass army ever to set foot on Middle Earth. Was given one of the Silmaril's and set in the sky as the Morning Star (or the Gil-Estel, the 'star of high hope'), to sail his ship in the stars and guard the Doors of Night (a.k.a. Morgoth's prison). Fought in the final battle of the War of Wrath and slew several dragons, including Ancalagon the Black, the largest on record. Yes. Very. Badass. Indeed. Periodically visited by his wife, Elwing, (who can turn into a seabird. Best not to inquire how), presumably to stop him going insane. Does not appreciate being knocked out of the sky and having his Silmaril taken.**

**Elwing Nimlothiel:**** One of the half elven who chose to be one of the elves. Wife of Earendil. Mother of Elrond and Elros. Can, for some phenomenally weird reason, transform into a seabird. Apparently one of the Valar did it as a favour. Or something. Like her husband, does not appreciate being knocked out of the sky.**

**Godric Gryffindor:**** A lord and Founder of Hogwarts. Enchanter of the Sorting Hat, wielder of the Sword of Gryffindor and ancestor of Harry Potter, who he occasionally possesses, and as Guardsman Thor, father of Morcar Torsson. **

**Emrys:**** One of the grandchildren of Merlin. About 17. Extremely good at violence and favours two short swords in battle. Being part Maia and the descendant of Merlin, he is both potentially very powerful magically, and extremely powerful physically. Goes through trolls, orcs and other creatures of the darkness like a laxative through a short grandmother. The number of swordsmen who could beat him is low, and all of them are on this list. Currently dating (if that's the right word) Miriel of Gondor. **

**Eirian:**** The other grandchild of Merlin. About 20. Scarily powerful sorceress. Known as the Doom Singer. Is naturally as skilled at Magic and Singing as her brother is with a sword (i.e. very). Extremely good singer, and often uses this as a medium for her magic, much like Luthien did. For want of a better word, dating Sirius Black. Very, very scary when she gets angry. Has a fine line in terrifyingly brutal, clever and highly appropriate revenge.**

**Merlin:**** Legendary half Ainur sorcerer with a penchant for the infuriatingly mysterious. His magical powers had few or no limits. May or may not be dead. May also have once used the alias 'Sydney Newman' when temporarily stuck in the 1960's. On the other hand, that might just have been a joke. With him, it's hard to tell.**

**Nimue: ****His perpetually (fondly) exasperated wife, who is mostly used to his idiosyncratic lifestyle. Mostly. Also an extremely powerful sorceress. Possibly of elven descent, due to the fact that the years seem not to touch her, however everyone is too sane/polite to ask her age.**

**Dudley Evans (né Dursley):**** A lawyer. Descendant of Maedhros Feanorion and Cousin to Harry Potter. Also a childhood bully (something he bitterly regrets). Now, as Harry put it, fighting the good fight through the Courts of Law with the Hyperion Law Firm, often on a shoe string budget. Due to marry his fiancée Emily. Estranged from his father. May or may not have access to a large amount of illegal automatic weaponry.**

**Morcar Torsson:**** Son of Guardsman Thor, whose mere presence makes Boromir feel guilty. Soldier in the Gondorian Army and newfound possessor of (so far weak) decidedly unexpected magical abilities. **

**Frodo Baggins, a.k.a. Ringbearer, Gold Finger:**** A hobbit. Former bearer of the One Ring. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Resident adventure magnet. His retirement is not quite as peaceful as was hoped. **_**Really**_** doesn't like spiders.**

**Samwise Gamgee:**** Another hobbit (little buggers get everywhere). Former bearer of the One Ring. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo's loyal gardener and unofficial bodyguard. A born Hufflepuff with the heart of a Gryffindor. **

**Meriadoc 'Merry' Brandybuck:**** Yet another hobbit. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. One of Frodo's relatives. Capable fighter and Esquire of Rohan. Helped slay the Witch King. **

**Peregrin 'Pippin' Took:**** A Fool of A Took and another hobbit. Former member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Member of the Tower Guard of Gondor. **

**Mr Ollivander: ****A wandmaker. A wizard of indeterminate but considerable age. The finest wandmaker in Europe, if not the world. Profoundly weird, even by Wizarding standards (which is probably why he gets on so well with Luna), and deeply perceptive, bordering on prescient. Mesmerised by power, but with (thankfully) a decent set of morals.**


	3. Chapter 3: Of Elves and Lawnmowers

**A/N: For all those who are interested, a second chapter of 'Snippets from the Shadows' is up, which covers a small part of what happened in between 'The Wizard in the Shadows' and From out of the Shadows. I own only Emrys and Eirian.**

**The Shire**

Frodo was watching the sleeping elf carefully. She didn't seem to be a threat, but any elf was dangerous, and any elf who was mother to Lord Elrond was doubly so. And judging by her wounds, she had been recently attacked, and would therefore be utterly terrified and enraged. He sighed. She just had to land in his garden when every single wizard or witch was in the other world.

"Why did it have to be my garden you landed in?" he mused aloud. "Haven't I done enough for the Powers?"

"The Valar are rarely interested in whether the burdens they place on the shoulders of their servants are too heavy," the elf said, voice rasping, eyes flickering open. Frodo started, then poured a goblet of water.

"Here, drink some water," he said. She looked at it suspiciously, then at him, then drank it, sitting up.

"Careful, this house is designed for those of a shorter stature," Frodo cautioned as she stood up slowly.

"Where am I? And who are you, o small one whose garden I landed in?" she asked warily, the second questioned tinged with a hint of amusement. Frodo noted a slight accent and a lilt to her tone, as if she was unused to the Common Tongue.

"You're in Bag End, in the Shire," he said, and she looked blank.

"The far west of Middle Earth, sorry, Arda?"

She still looked blank.

He went and fetched maps of the First Age and more recent ones, spreading on the desk. She stood up and looked at them.

"The War of Wrath ended the First Age and destroyed almost all of Beleriand. Only Lindon, Tol Morwen, Tol Fuin and Himring still exist. Numenor sank in the Second Age," Frodo said pointing out each place. In truth he rather enjoyed this scholarly pursuit and her presence made him feel more at ease. He then pointed to the Shire.

"This is where we are, the Land of the Shire, home of the Hobbits. Nominally we come under the authority of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, but Aragorn reckons that Hobbits should rule Hobbits, and lets us manage our own affairs, though there is a small garrison in Bree to fend off any wandering dark creatures, and we have magical methods of communication in case we need more aid."

"I see," she said carefully. "I'm sorry, this is a bit of a shock. I have not been in Arda for… at least an age or two if what you tell me is true, and the world is much changed from when I was last here."

"It is currently the dawn of the Fourth Age, and my name is Frodo Baggins," Frodo said.

"I am honoured to make your acquaintance Master Baggins, and thank you for your hospitality. I am the Lady Elwing the White of… well, once I was of the Havens of Sirion, and Doriath, but they are gone," she said, and was surprised when Frodo nodded.

"You know my name?" she asked, a little warily.

"I do. Mostly in connection to your son, Lord Elrond," he said, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp.

"My sons live?" she whispered.

"Elrond does, as he chose to be an elf. Elros chose to be of the race of Men, and lived another 500 years after his choice, and became the founder of Numenor. Aragorn, well, he's called Elessar now he's King, but prefers Aragorn in private, is descended from him," Frodo said.

"But who raised them? I recall that the sons of Feanor attacked and slaughtered their way through our household," she asked, clearly reliving painful memories.

Frodo chose his next words carefully. "Maglor begged for their lives and Maedhros could not kill two children. They took them in and raised them on their own, and let them go and serve King Gil-Galad in time."

Thankfully, Elwing smiled slightly in relief. "So my bearing of the Silmaril did not doom my children. That is good to hear, very good to hear. Do any still live from that time?"

Frodo thought for a moment. "Lord Glorfindel, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, Gandalf and Radagast, two Maiar formerly known as Olorin and Aiwendil, a variety of ents, Lord Cirdan and… Maglor himself."

Elwing looked thoughtful for a moment and said, "So few… does Maglor still hunt for the Silmaril's?"

Frodo shook his head. "Last I heard, he had been absolved of his oath and freed from his punishment, much to his relief and everyone else's."

"His punishment? And how was he freed, that oath was water tight. Only Eru himself was not listed in it," Elwing asked, puzzled.

"To walk the shores of Middle Earth forever, unable to contact any other and thinking of his past misdeeds. He did so for around… 6000 years. And Feanor's oath did not account for the arrival of mortal wizards, least of all, part elven mortal wizards," Frodo said. "But I think someone else hunts for the gems. Your husband seems to have fallen out of the sky as you have, though I know not where he is."

A shadow passed across Elwing's face. "I remember. I flew up to visit my husband, as I normally do, mostly to prevent him going mad from loneliness, when I was struck by a bolt of power unlike any I have ever seen that caused me untold agony, and I saw my husband duelling… something on his ship. I heard a cry declaring for the Iron Crown, then there was an enormous flash of light and the next thing I know, I wake up in your bed."

"The Iron Crown," Frodo said flatly. "Morgoth." He sighed as she nodded.

For the first time in quite possibly ever, Frodo Baggins swore. "Fuck."

**Magical London**

Sirius looked up from his newspaper as the shoppers plus George Weasley got back and Eirian began her daily shouting match with the portrait of Walburga Black.

"Did it go well?" Sirius asked, ignoring his girlfriend's yelling.

"Those two," Harry said, pointing at a cheerful and totally unrepentant Emrys and George, "are not to be left alone together."

"- FILTHY DEGENERATE HALF BREEDS, MY BLOOD TRAITOR OF A SON BRINGING PART MUDBLOOD WHORES INTO THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS -"

"What did they do?" Sirius asked with a grin.

"Purple custard again. It's becoming a bit of a calling card."

"Where?"

"- EVIL OLD BITCH HAG, YOU DROVE AWAY YOUR SON WITH YOUR STUPIDITY AND YOUR VILENESS LINGERS LIKE A STAIN -"

"In the main foyer of the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, putting down bags.

Sirius's grin got even wider. "Sharks again?"

"Piranhas," George chipped in. "Flying piranhas. And we swapped the desert in the cafeteria for Canary Creams. And come on Harry, it was pretty fun when Eirian and Emrys sent the whole shoal after Lucius Malfoy because he called them unlettered half breed barbarians."

Harry's face took on a slightly dreamy cast. "I must admit, never has a man running around screaming with piranhas biting his bollocks been so… cathartic."

"So what happened?" Sirius prompted

"They got a stern reprimand from Kingsley. Well, I say stern, when we got to his office, he was trying not to piss himself laughing," Harry said. "And, we got pictures of Malfoy, one of which is going in tomorrow's Prophet. Apparently the culprits are unknown." He slid a photograph across to Sirius who put down the newspaper and promptly burst out laughing. It showed Lucius Malfoy screaming silently and running in and out of the frame, vainly trying to dislodge something wriggling beneath his robes. "He's currently in St. Mungo's."

At that moment, the floo flared into life and Draco Malfoy's head appeared in the flames. "Potter, can I come in for a word?"

"Sure, Malfoy, come on over," Harry said, still grinning.

The fire flared green, and Draco stepped through, dressed in a sharp suit. Removing the dust with a single spell, he said, "Which one of you or your merry band attempted to castrate my father with a piranha?" He didn't seem particularly annoyed, and appeared to be slightly amused.

"Us?" Harry said innocently. "Would we do such a thing?"

"Yes. The facts that Weasley and your mysterious friend are giggling like mad, my cousin is holding an admittedly amusing picture and that you cannot act innocent to save your life somewhat torpedo your Not Guilty plea," Draco said dryly.

"You know, you could just have said, 'Yes,'" Sirius said. "It would have been much simpler."

"But much less fun," Draco shot back, and Sirius nodded his head in acceptance.

Eirian walked in, and eyed Draco. "Who is this?"

Draco could be heard to mutter, 'if only I weren't married' as he gave her body a quick once over, something aided by the intriguingly tight suit and pencil skirt, then said, "Introduce me, Potter."

"Very well. Eirian, meet Draco Malfoy. He may be a bit of a snake, but the defanged variety. Really he's more like a ferret. A bouncing one," Harry said. "Malfoy, meet Eirian ap Derfel, a witch of enormous power. Her brother's standing next to George."

Draco gave him an absolutely evil look as George attempted to conceal his laughter and Emrys and Sirius wore identical looks of interest.

"Ferret?" they said, in complete synchrony.

Draco looked at them for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh. My. God. There's _two _of them now. My mother may kill you for this. Potter, next time you depart for parts unknown, I will be keeping tabs, because … Merlin knows what you'll bring back next time. Or who."

Sirius, Harry, Emrys and Eirian all broke into laughter.

"You want some tea, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Will you play mother?" Malfoy asked dryly, then nodded. "I might as well. Mother is with father in St Mungo's and will probably be staying there for some time, and I have nothing better to do."

Harry rolled his eyes and set the kettle boiling.

When the kettle had boiled and the tea poured, Malfoy drank appreciatively. It was good tea.

"What happened to your House Elf, Potter?" he asked.

Harry's face darkened slightly. "He works at Hogwarts now. Sirius tried to kill him."

"The little bastard was responsible for me being tortured and presumed dead for seven years," Sirius growled.

"What he did was wrong, but you gave him no reason to be loyal to you. You treated him like shit, Sirius. You were the one who told me to judge someone by how they treat their inferiors," Harry replied flatly.

Sirius snorted derisively and drank his tea in silence. Eirian cuddled up to him, kissing him on the cheek and greatly improving his mode.

"Lucky bastard," Malfoy muttered under his breath. Harry, Emrys and Eirian heard, and all three smirked in synchrony.

"I received this letter this morning, Potter," Malfoy said, after studying Harry and Sirius for a few moments.

Harry glanced at it and grinned. "I wondered when this would come up. You coming?"

"I will, if you can promise the bride's family won't hex me on sight," Draco said. Harry eyed George who nodded.

"As long as Lucius doesn't come," George said. "If he does, all bets are off."

"I assure you, I avoid my father as assiduously as you do. Besides, he wouldn't come within in a mile of it," Draco replied.

"Excellent. In return, can you teach me some evasion spells, to throw off magical tracking?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco set down his mug and stared levelly at Harry. "Potter," he said in a deceptively calm voice, "What have you done now? Who is following you?"

"Mrs Weasley," Harry said sullenly, as Sirius and Emrys started laughing and Draco rolled his eyes, "the woman is implacable! And she is – as much as I love her like a mother – a complete control freak!"

"Harry's right, she never gives up," George said. "I had to stun her to stop her obsessing over the preparations for my and Angelina's wedding."

"Did it work?" Sirius asked interestedly.

"No," George said sourly. "When she came to, it was even worse, like having my own personal Howler following me around." He imitated his mother's voice, "George Weasley, how dare you stun your own mother, these decorations are terrible, really dear you should have let me advise you…" He sighed. "It went on _forever_."

Draco sighed. "Very well Potter, I'll teach you. But I want something in return," as Harry opened his mouth, Draco's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't take me for a fool Potter! We both know that you have enemies and you have some very dangerous secrets to protect. Those two," he said, pointing to Emrys and Eirian.

"They are part of them. I don't want to know about the precise details of the secrets, though if you decide to tell me… knowledge is power, after all. I would guess that you've travelled, either through time or to a parallel dimension, and I know a lot of people who would go to unthinkable depths for that information." Harry began to look dangerously relaxed and his hand strayed to his wand. Emrys rested his hands on one of his hidden swords, and Sirius and Eirian tensed. George just watched, eyes calculating.

"I don't intend to disseminate that information. Far from it. But I want to know two things. One, in this parallel world, other time or whatever, have you made any enemies that might find their way back here? Two… what happened to you, Potter? You move like a predator these days, with a sense of coiled power. The light scars on your arms indicate that you learnt how the hard way. And your eyes. You have suffered in that time, and faced things no many should have to face. I'm also fairly certain you don't need those ridiculous glasses anymore, and I suspect you only wear them because they are what the sheep that comprise the Wizarding World expect it."

Harry gave him a careful look and asked, "How did you reach your conclusions?"

"Ever since I was sixteen, I've had to know how to judge people, to see things others don't. The modified extrasensory charm I'm using also helps. I can tell you that Emrys over there is a combat veteran despite his looks, and could have that sword he's about to draw through my neck before I could even think of using my wand. Like all the best fighters, he's moderating his breathing and relaxing his muscles for optimum reaction time. Eirian, like her brother, seems to be moderating her breathing, in this case as if she's about to use some variety of wandless magic. You and Sirius are poised to use your wands and Mr Weasley is well aware that you have the situation in hand and has decided to observe," Draco said calmly. "And that is just what I saw now. Potter, when people expect to see a pretty face, that is all they see. I'm a Slytherin, and I would be a discredit to my house if I didn't use that to my advantage," Draco said calmly.

Harry raised his eyebrows, and nodded, clearly impressed. Emrys gave Draco a laconic salute, and most his hands away from his sword, Eirian nodded, clearly impressed, and Sirius and George looked at Malfoy with a degree of grudging respect.

"To answer your questions, no enemies I know of, though as… interesting as the place I spent five years in is, it is quite possible there are more. If you do come across anything weird, set it on fire. That kills most things," Harry said firmly, then his face tightened. "I fought in a war, on a far larger scale than Voldemort's. Entire _countries _burned, and the armies of monsters and men both numbered in the tens of thousands. Emrys, Eirian and Sirius also fought, though I fought the longest in actual combat. On more occasions than I care to remember I had to rely on my – nowadays not inconsiderable – skill with a sword to survive. I saw too many friends die in front of me, I was killed myself," Draco raised his eyebrows, then motioned to him to continue, "the Powers That Be, a group called the Valar, sent me back."

Draco sipped his tea, then nodded his acceptance, and said casually, "I take it you married Ginny Potter there then?"

"Yes, I – _how the hell did you guess that?_" Harry said, shocked.

Draco smirked. "Potter, you are _such _a Gryffindor. It was an educated guess, and it helps that your wand hand is rather near me and the mark of a ring hasn't completely faded."

"How did you know it wasn't an engagement ring?"

"Like I said Potter, educated guess," Draco replied dryly. "Now, I must bid you all a good day and check to see if my father has been castrated physically as well as spiritually. I'll send you the book of evasion spells tomorrow. Thank you for the tea," With that he finished his tea, took some floo powder, threw it into and said clearly, "Malfoy Manor," before stepping through.

"Well, that was unexpected," Emrys said. "Not many people see that much."

"And not many wizards or witches would bother to keep up an extrasensory charm in a fairly normal situation," Harry murmured. "Draco's become rather more perceptive than I would have expected. He's almost like you Sirius, except when people s –" He cut himself off and eyed Eirian. "If I finish that sentence I'm going to be castrated aren't I?" He asked calmly.

"Maybe," she said, drawing Sirius into a long kiss as Emrys made retching noises in the background. "Depends what you were going to say."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Discretion is that better part of valour," he settled for in the end.

"Smart man," she murmured, kissing Sirius again.

"Is Maglor still at the Burrow?" Harry asked George.

"Last I saw him he was debating the existence or lack thereof of Crumple Horned Snorkacks with Luna. I think he started talking about something called the Kine of Araw or something as I was leaving," George replied.

"He and mum really get on, and I don't even want to know what he and dad are building in the shed, they've been inseparable since he mentioned that his dad was a master craftsman. Bill, Fleur, Victoire and Charlie have dropped by, and been told about who he is. He seemed most curious about Fleur, and they started chattering in some sort of odd language. It sounded musical, but I couldn't make out a word."

Harry tucked that little bit of information away. Veela apparently spoke either Sindarin or Quenya. It would, Harry thought, explain a lot about Veela in general.

"Well, since we have done our shopping, shall we drop by the Burrow?" Harry asked.

**One Hour Later, the Burrow**

Harry watched the strange metal contraption buzz its way through the garden, entirely under its own power, and began to wonder if this visit was such a good idea. Maglor had met them with hugs and cries of welcome, as had Mrs Weasley. When Maglor had offered to show him his and Mr Weasley's latest creation, Harry accepted, out of curiosity and he'd noticed Mrs Weasley was looking like she was about to start on what he had dubbed the Wedding Warpath. Now he was beginning to regret it.

"Let me get this straight. You made… a magical lawn mower," Harry said slowly, eyeing the machine as if it might explode at any moment.

"Arthur did most of it, I just added a few things," Maglor said proudly as the machine's gentle buzz rose to a roar, it extruded multiple spinning blades and started chasing after a gnome at a remarkable speed. "Including an attack function," Maglor finished as it whizzed past them.

Harry just sighed as the unfortunate gnome was reduced to red spray. "Has it ever occurred to you that Mrs Weasley might not _want_ a lawnmower that kills all intruders?"

"Why? My mother would have loved one, she was always complaining of how ada was interfering with her garden," Maglor said innocently, then his eyes glazed over as he looked into the middle distance. Harry got the feeling he was imagining Feanor being hunted and eaten by an implacable killer lawn mower. If Feanor was substituted for Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, Harry could see his point.

"Maglor, there is the issue of the mess it… is it drinking the blood?" Harry asked, half disgusted, half fascinated.

Maglor nodded. "What do you think it runs on?"

"Magic?"

Maglor looked at him as if he were mad.

Harry sighed again. "You have been spending way too much time around Luna."

**Another mostly light chapter with a little bit of crack humour. So far, this is all just setting the scene. Please REVIEW! I live on them.**


	4. Chapter 4: Teaching

**I know, it's been a while, but I've had a fairly hectic summer and my WIP's total well over 250,000 words by now and I have around 30 WIP's. Including this one. So please enjoy.**

**Some people have wondered as to the identity of the two people who watched Harry, Emrys, Eirian and Dudley at the pub. All I will say is, look at the man's **_**eyes**_**. **_**Particularly when they change colour briefly. **_**It's a double shout out, one to Doctor Who and the other to… well, work it out.**

**I've also just realised that I have – subconsciously - put a fair bit of myself into Emrys (though thankfully he isn't a straight up copy of me. I like to think of myself as being a little more mature. And a little less honourable, among other things). I'm not sure whether to be worried or not. *shrugs* It's worked out well enough and it is said that an author should put some of themselves into their writing.**

Aragorn was worried. The appearance of Earendil sans Silmaril, and according to Frodo by magical mirror, Elwing as well, was a worrying one to put it lightly.

The Silmaril's were some of the most dangerous artefacts in existence, and put together, they had terrifying power. They contained the light of the two trees, and therefore a portion of the power. They were also the keys to the Doors of Night. Whoever was behind this attack could also command Dark Wizards, which sent a shiver down Aragorn's spine.

Harry, for all he was great friend and valued ally, was a terrifying sight in battle. As was his wife, who was - if possible - even more frightening. The very air crackled with power as he prepared for a fight, and his powers seemed to have few limits. He dreaded to think what someone without Harry's scruples might be capable of. And he could only think of one being with the power, charisma and influence to set off such a chain of events. Even bound behind the doors of night, Morgoth was causing trouble. And he was on the move.

The commander in him grudgingly admired Morgoth's removal of his most experienced foe and stealthy gathering of power. All that puzzled him was how Morgoth had managed to make contact with the world outside the Void in the first place.

One thing did brighten up his day, however. Boromir's explanation of Morcar's father to Morcar himself.

"So, let me get this right," Morcar said slowly. "My father was the reincarnation of the ancestor of the Darkness Slayer, a man called Godric Gryffindor, who was responsible, at the very least, for that damn great silver cat thing at Helm's Deep. And the Ringbearer's glowing finger. "

"Yes," Boromir said, sounding relieved that the end was in sight and that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Morcar nodded, looking to be deep in thought. "So. Why haven't I blown up the city yet?" he asked thoughtfully.

Boromir looked like he was having a stroke. "I'm not sure," he muttered, having discovered that the metaphorical light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel was a metaphorical flame thrower.

"And how am I supposed to explain all this to my long lost, very distant, enormously powerful, very frightening and probably insane relative who bends reality to his will?" Morcar asked.

"He doesn't exactly bend reality," Boromir muttered.

"Lord Boromir, I once saw him transform a rock into a pie. Then eat it," Morcar said flatly. "If that does not count as warping the basic tenets of reality, I do not know what does. And I note you don't deny his power. Or his insanity."

Boromir glared at him. "Anyone who spends more than ten minutes with Harry Potter is certain that he is mad. This is true. But anyone who spends long enough in his presence and pays attention becomes aware that he puts on at least some of the madness merely for his own amusement and he has very many valid reasons for the rest."

"There is valid reason for regularly turning Prince Eomer into a canary?" Morcar asked sceptically.

Boromir's voice went cold. "If you count having your parents murdered at the age of one and remembering your mother being murdered right in front of your eyes by one of the worst evils I have ever encountered. If you count then being raised by guardians who routinely mistreated him and made him live in a small cupboard, then being treated as the Chosen hero by an entire world from the age of eleven, and thereafter fighting in a near constant war. If you count then having almost everyone even resembling a father figure murdered, often in front of you, and when you finally won, and sought surcease, being thrown into another world and another war, being trapped there. If you count all of that, then yes, he has _valid reason_," Boromir said, voice cold and harsh as the north wind in winter.

Aragorn, watching from the shadows, unconsciously drew his cloak closer as the room temperature dropped sharply. Morcar looked shocked. "He is my friend. And I will _not_ have him mocked, guardsman. _Is_. _That_. _Clear?_"

Morcar gulped, and nodded.

"Good," Boromir said coldly. "Now go, guardsman. I don't care how you tell him. It's none of my damned business."

"Aye, my lord. Just one more question: Why do you actively avoid me, yet seek the company of the Royal Wizard?" Morcar said, sounding subdued.

"Because the Royal Wizard is my friend. Unlike you, he is not a walking, talking and breathing reminder of my second greatest failure. He has shown me kindness and friendship on levels you could not even begin to grasp," Boromir said, tone not warming in the slightest. "Now. _Leave_."

Looking stricken, the guardsman left at a quick walk.

"That was perhaps a little harsh, Boromir," Aragorn said in a quietly reproving tone.

"I stand by every word, Aragorn," Boromir stated flatly, removing his hand from where it had automatically dropped, the hilt of his sword, and not sounding the slightest bit repentant. "I was not exaggerating when I said at his funeral that he was like a second Faramir. He is like a younger brother to me, and I will _not_ stand by and let him be insulted."

Aragorn smiled slightly. "And I expected nothing less from you, Boromir. Nevertheless, the young man has just seen his world turned upside down. In the last few hours, he has discovered that he possesses at least a fragment of the power that he associates with feats of valour and might on an unimaginable scale. He survived an attack by one of the most dangerous beings to walk this earth. After less than five and a score years of ordinary life, he has found that he is related to the most dangerous man alive, however distantly, as well as the truth about his father. That would unbalance even the calmest and most collected of men. And men of his age are rarely calm and collected at the best of times."

"I understand his considerable level of upset, even empathise with it. What I will not accept is his venting his hysteria on Harry, and that is the end of it, Aragorn," Boromir said firmly. "I will not stand for it."

"As you say, my Lord Steward," Aragorn said quietly, melting back into the shadows.

"As I say, my Lord King," Boromir said to the air.

**The Ministry**

Harry's next stop was to give a lecture to the trainee Auror's, and he started it with a question.

"Which House provides the best Aurors? And why?"

Cho raised her hand hesitantly, and at an encouraging nod from Harry, said, "Ravenclaw. Because they can emotionlessly apply logic and analyse threat levels and enemy strategies."

"Wrong."

"Gryffindor," this one was Dean Thomas. "Because they have the courage to stand up and fight, and chivalry to treat prisoners well."

"Wrong," Harry said, and there was susurration of sound, whispers going around. Everyone, Harry knew, had expected him as a former Gryffindor to say it was Gryffindor. They would be in for a big surprise, he thought, suppressing a smirk as he did so.

"Hufflepuff," said Susan Bones. "Because they have loyalty to their comrades and a sense of fair play."

"Wrong."

"Slytherin," said Theodore Nott. "Because they have the cunning to outsmart and outmanoeuvre the enemy and the ambition and drive to make things happen."

"Wrong," Harry said, and savoured the dumbfounded looks on the trainees faces.

"Too much logic will cause you to lose sight of emotional motives and your own emotions. That will get you killed. Too much bravery and chivalry will make you a sitting duck and get you killed. Loyalty to a doomed comrade can get you killed and lose you an engagement. Fair play will _definitely _get you killed. Too much cunning and too little trust will have you isolated and deader than Voldemort," Harry said. To their credit, few of the trainees flinched, though they all looked shocked.

"What, you expected me to say courage would get you through everything?" Harry said and snorted. "I've seen where leaping before looking and blind courage gets you. It gets you dead. And trying to play the hero often gets other people killed."

"You played the hero often enough," Nott pointed out.

Harry smirked. "I did. And only after sufficient planning and application of cunning, analysis of threats and trusting the loyalty of my comrades. And I was lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Usually the only person killed was myself," Harry said.

Nott raised an eyebrow.

"What? You think that Voldemort didn't kill me at the battle of Hogwarts? He did, and it was only a combination of the side effects of using my blood for his resurrection and my mother's sacrifice when he first tried to kill me that let me come back. The second time… there were extenuating circumstances," Harry said.

"You were killed?" Nott asked. The former Slytherin was monopolising him while the rest of the crowd watched with bated breath.

"The first time with the Killing Curse. It is genuinely painless, by the way. The second time was with a sword. And it was far from painless," Harry said calmly, unbuttoning his shirt. There was an enormous scar where the Wraith Voldemort had skewered him, all pale scar tissue against muscle. Whispers flew around the room again.

"What happened?" a male trainee Harry didn't recognise asked, as Harry buttoned up his shirt again.

Harry flashed a grin, all teeth and no humour, and said, "I returned the favour. With a little fire spell I'm fond of, so he's dust on the wind. But the wound, and the fall - because we were fighting up in the sky and I fell - killed me."

"What's death like?" another asked.

"I was outright told that it's different for everyone and I generally don't like dwelling on the fact that I've been dead twice. I was buried the second time, so I think you can understand if I just want to mention it and move on," Harry said firmly. There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Besides, this isn't about me. This isn't my life story. I'm not telling you where I went for five and half years, because, quite frankly, everyone who needs and deserves to know already does. What I will say is I fought in a brutal war and made some very good friends. And what I learnt is that the best soldiers, the best commanders, combine the traits of all four houses, to one extent or another," Harry said, then flicked his wand at the white board, dictating.

"Courage is nothing without direction, Loyalty is nothing without others who trust or who are worth trusting, Logic is nothing without application and Cunning is _nothing_ if there isn't loyalty to knit a unit together," Harry said, holding the gaze of everyone in the room. All of them looked back at him, hooked. Then he began to talk, and talk and talk some more.

**Just outside**

Ginny looked on with pride. Her husband was teaching like a natural, keeping the group hooked and occasionally fielding questions.

"He's really quite good at it, isn't he?" came Kingsley's deep baritone.

Ginny smiled. "Yes, yes he is."

"Do you think you could persuade him to work full time?" Kingsley asked.

"Maybe. But I can guarantee that you'd end up with Emrys and Sirius on staff as well," Ginny said, and smirked when Kingsley sighed.

"I'm not sure if the Wizarding World could survive those two in anything resembling positions of authority. Lucius has been complaining to me about the piranhas ever since he woke up," the Minister said.

"And Draco?"

"He thinks it's rather funny from what I can tell. The two don't get on these days, not in the slightest," Kingsley replied.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. As far as we can tell, Draco thinks his father is refusing to change with the times, and he's become one of the more vocal proponents for pro-muggle and minority legislation. He even cooperated with Hermione to push through successive Werewolf and House Elf rights bills – somehow he managed to convince her they don't like being freed and that a Ministry vetted approved contract between wizard and elf is an acceptable solution – and repealing Dolores Umbridge's anti-Werewolf legislation," Kingsley said. Ginny's jaw dropped.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know. Whether it's genuine or a cynical move to gain popularity, it's moving acts through the Wizengamot at a decent rate, and makes my life a lot easier, so frankly I don't care," Kingsley replied simply.

Ginny nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you think he's going to try and take over?" she asked.

"Give it twenty years and he'll have my job, probably by being elected on a landslide victory. For now, I think he's rebuilding the Malfoy family reputation and distancing himself from his father's past," Kingsley said.

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"He's as natural at politics as Harry is at war. And your husband is the most talented general I've ever seen. At fifteen, when most kids are worrying about girls and school, he was leading a well-trained resistance, the members of whom managed to successfully duel full grown Death Eaters and survive with no permanent injury," Kingsley said.

"We cut it rather fine, though," Ginny murmured, remembering Ron's near strangulation at the Department of Mysteries.

"That's more than most people can say. They have all been head hunted by the Auror office, and many are in that room right now. His teaching methods have been integrated into the auror program, and frankly I would kill for the chance to have him head up the department. He has charisma, combat experience and good judgement, and I'm not the only one to see it. Malfoy for one will be looking to at least make sure that Harry won't oppose his ambitions, and preferably support him," Kingsley said.

Then he paused and added, "It doesn't hurt that Harry is the last scion of an ancient bloodline and power wise is what a Firebolt is to a Nimbus 1000 when compared to the average witch or wizard."

"Politics," Ginny sighed. "We get enough of it in Middle Earth, let alone here."

"Love it or hate it, it's what makes a country work. Any of your friends could tell you that," Kingsley said with a shrug.

"I suppose it does. Doesn't mean I have to like it," Ginny acknowledged.

"Nor do I, and I'm involved with it 24/7," Kingsley said. Ginny looked surprised, and Kingsley snorted. "You think I _wanted_ to be Minister? I only took the job because everyone wanted me to, I was the only consensus candidate and every other candidate would have ruined what remained of the country."

"How much longer do you have left?" Ginny asked.

"Another year, then I'm retiring. I'll take a leaf out of your husband's book, and consult for the Auror office, but no more," Kingsley said, and rubbed his eyes wearily. "If I had any hair, it would have gone grey."

"Then I suggest you be thankful that you don't have any hair," Ginny said dryly. "What's up with Fudge? Isn't he your advisor? He's a dick, and spineless, but he knows politics."

Kingsley shook his head. "He referred to an American diplomat as a 'bloody colonial'. Now he's Magical Britain's ambassador to the Faroe Islands."

Ginny grinned. "Do you have a picture of his face when you told him?"

"Mrs Potter, that would be unprofessional," Kingsley said calmly, then smiled slightly. "Of course I do."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Give me some credit, Ginny. I can say without boasting, that your husband and Mad Eye Moody aside, I am the best Auror in recent Wizarding history. And I am better at disguising myself than both, though admittedly both have or had rather distinctive appearances. I know what to look for, and I see the recent mark of a ring. And you're wearing your engagement ring right now," Kingsley said.

"That does sound like boasting," Ginny said dryly. "Back to your earlier point, is Harry really that strong? I know he's powerful, but on that scale?"

"Since he routinely breaks one of the fundamental rules of magic, Gamp's laws of transfiguration, he most definitely is. One day, he'll be almost as skilled as Albus Dumbledore, and arguably, he's stronger. He is a wizard to be watched," Kingsley said, then slyly added, "especially since he's the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor according to Witch Weekly."

"He's engaged to me. And I will hex anyone who says different," Ginny said calmly. Kingsley saw the steely resolve in her eyes.

"I thought you might," he said.

**St Mungo's**

Lucius Malfoy was furious. The Malfoy name counted for nothing these days. Once, anyone who dared raise a hand to him would have been destroyed. Now, the attack of a pureblood patriarch was considered to be valid form of public entertainment. And the mudbloods who had done it hadn't even been charged!

Draco had been immensely unsympathetic, dropping by to say that he had got what he deserved. And the child had the gall to call him out for behaving in a manner unbefitting of both Slytherin House and the Ancient House of Malfoy. He had said that a Slytherin must know when to strike, and to let emotions get the better of one was a cardinal sin. A Malfoy should apparently conduct themself with dignity, and embody the concept of nobility, without, of course becoming a Gryffindor.

Then he smiled, and his mood lightened. It was no matter. Soon enough, he would have his vengeance. His master had told him so. Told him that he was the only one worthy of serving the cause of cleansing two entire worlds of the unworthy. Then the name of Malfoy would command the proper respect once more.

All he to do, his master had counselled him, was to be patient. His master was always right. Though he could not touch his master, something deep within the darkness of his master, a being that was far greater and more terrible than Voldemort had ever been, resonated with him. They were partners. Senior Partners.

**Ominous, eh ? And yes, the Angel the Series reference was intentional. Now, please type in the little box below your thoughts on this story.**


	5. Chapter 5: Love and other Headaches

**Okay, so there hasn't been an update for a while. A good week and four months. I'm sorry about that, I really am. But I'm in my final year of school, and Real Life has hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only that, but what time I have for writing is often taken up by one of the numerous other projects I'm working on. Never fear, this story will **_**not**_** be abandoned. I will reiterate that I have the finale written up. I'm just filling in the gaps.**

**This chapter is Emrys/Miriel centric, though not to the exclusion of other characters, and is a mix of light comedy and emotional angst.**

**For the sake of myself and my readers, I imagine Emrys as a young, blonde, short haired and more powerfully built Cary Elwes (Westley in **_**The Princess Bride.**_** Yes, this will be noted) with light green eyes and Eirian as Sophia Bush (look her up) with chestnut brown hair and light green eyes.**** Theoretically, I would describe ****Miriel as a grey eyed, wavy haired Ellen Page, with slightly sharper cheekbones and features, but in all honesty, I've had a very hard time pinning her down. The closest I've really found is a watercolour painting of a Silimarillion character called Anairë by an artist called liga-marta, except Miriel is maybe a bit more fiery and darker haired... the hell with it. I'll be at this all day. Imagine her how you wish.**

**Also, I've been totting up the character list, including the next generation and the next generation's kids. I concluded that the cast list is probably going to be in three figures by the time this series is done. And the ficverse is so ambitiously large that one of my correspondents commented that it alone earned me a place in Slytherin. God damn it.**

_**By the way, for all fans of James and Harry, look up a new oneshot on my profile. It's a short fic called 'Conviction', written from James' POV, in which James dwells on his baby son and on what he would do for his family.**_

"Are Emrys and Miriel still arguing?" Harry asked Ron, who shrugged. Miriel had arrived the day before, and after being dragged on a girl's day out, ostensibly to get to know one another, despite knowing each other quite well already –complete with shopping - by Ginny, Hermione and Eirian, settled in.

Maglor had not immediately recognised her, therefore he had automatically hit on her. This led to everyone desperately trying to persuade Emrys not to hit Maglor, Emrys sulking on the ceiling thereafter and Miriel glowering at him for being insecure, then passionately kissing him upside down. With all that, her and Emrys' constant bickering, which only abated when they were making doe eyes at one another or making out, the chaos had yet to stop. Mr Weasley was the only one who was totally serene in dealing with all this, merely saying that after raising seven children, this was all fairly mundane.

"Not sure. I took Maglor's advice and…" Ron trailed off in horror.

"What did he tell you to do?" Harry asked, lips twitching slightly.

"Lock them in the shed and silence it," Ron whispered, having suddenly realised why this was a Very Bad Idea.

Harry started snickering, and walked outside. Ron heard him cancel the locking charm, then he walked back in. Shushing Ron, he called up the stairs, "Eirian, your brother's in the shed. He's got something he wants to show you!"

"Thanks Harry," Eirian said, and she walked down the stairs and sighed. "This had better be good," she muttered.

Harry, somehow keeping a straight face, said seriously, "I got the impression that it was quite serious. Urgent even."

Eirian nodded her thanks and strode out. Harry, grinning widely, counted down from ten. By the time he reached one, Eirian opened the shed door, and three simultaneous yelps of shock and horror could be heard.

"What do you think?" Harry asked in between roars of laughter. "Straight up kissing, kissing and some groping, half-naked kissing and groping or full on sex?"

"Half naked kissing and some groping," Maglor said, walking in with a smirk that Ron was sure that he had bequeathed to Ginny, George and Bill via their genetics. "The trousers would have been off in another minute."

"HARRY!" Eirian and Miriel suddenly shrieked in unison.

"… aaaaannd now I'll be leaving," Harry said, making his way towards the backdoor. "Exit wizard, stage left, pursued by two women much more frightening than any bear," he added, disapparating with a crack.

A couple of moments after he left, Miriel came storming in, wavy hair practically a black halo of fury, grey eyes flashing with all the threat of a large hurricane. Ron felt like a small village that was lucky enough to be on the outlying edge of it. Her shirt and jeans – both intriguingly tight, particularly the latter, which meant that Emrys had been having trouble keeping his gaze above her waistline all day – were somewhat rumpled, and when she looked around sharply, looking for Harry, he noticed that her bra was missing. Clearly Eirian had caught them in medias res.

"Where?" she hissed. There was no doubt who she was asking about.

"Disapparated," Ron said, as Eirian came in, half annoyed, half amused, judging by her expression. Emrys followed, looking horribly embarrassed. "He didn't say where he was going."

Miriel muttered something obscene in Sindarin under her breath, causing Maglor's eyes to widen in surprise. "Damn," she muttered.

"Come on Miriel," Eirian said, sounding slightly amused. "I'm sure we can come up with suitable payback, between the three of us."

Ron and Maglor exchanged a look. Harry was in trouble.

**Later that evening, at the Burrow**

Ron and Maglor kept an eye on Miriel and Eirian, who were covertly giggling and whispering. Emrys was nowhere to be seen. As Harry kissed Ginny, and the two of them stumbled upstairs, Miriel and Eirian watched, suddenly silent. The door to their room shut. Eirian seemed to be counting under her breath, then carefully whistled a series of notes. Around thirty seconds later, Emrys came in, an enormous grin on his face, and lobbed a camera to his sister.

"The lake?" Miriel asked.

"The lake," Emrys said, grinning like mad. "They made one hell of a splash. Then the giant squid threw them out. And it is _all_ on camera."

"What did you do?" Ron asked, already half knowing the answer, as Maglor, Sirius and George began to laugh like mad, and Mr and Mrs Weasley shared an amused look.

"Between us, we came up with a revenge plan. I created the portkey to Hogwarts, about ten feet above the lake – not too far from the bank, Emrys and Miriel came up with the idea in between sneaking off to kiss, then Emrys took the photos," Eirian said cheerfully, as the two teens blushed. "And Miriel came up with another suggestion… well, that would be spoiling."

Five minutes later, the floo turned green and Professor McGonagall stepped through. "Sorry for intruding, Molly, Arthur," she said, then looked at the guilty threesome. "Are you three the reason that Mr Potter and Miss Weasley are currently naked but for a couple of blankets and some spare nightgowns in the hospital wing?"

"Are they all right?" Emrys asked, looking rather guilty.

"At worst, they caught a bit of a chill," Professor McGonagall said. "And Madame Pomfrey is giving them cold remedies. She seemed to spend longest chatting to Miss Weasley in private, since she seemed rather worried about her stomach. Presumably she accidentally drank some of the lake water. Once the all clear was given, Miss Weasley seemed most annoyed, but Mister Potter seemed to have been expecting it."

"That's good," Miriel said, slightly relieved, as Eirian and Mrs Weasley shared a knowing look.

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched. "Hagrid told me he'd never heard so much creative cursing in all sorts of languages in his entire life as they staggered out of the lake, naked as the day they were born. Apparently Fang reacted enthusiastically to Mr Potter, knocking him over, much to Mr Potter's displeasure."

"Will you stay for dinner, Minerva?" Molly asked.

"No thank you, Molly," Professor McGonagall replied. "I have a few students to deal with. I will send Mr Potter and Miss Weasley through shortly. Oh, and Mr Ap Derfel, I think I should mention that during your brief stay at the castle this afternoon, your politeness and most particularly, your display of wandless magic to catch a wayward first year on a broom gained much approval. Your strapping up of his arm with your shirt, then shirtlessly taking him to the hospital wing thereafter earned you no shortage of admirers among the older female students," She added, smirking. "A group of them were sighing over your 'awesome muscles', 'gorgeous eyes', 'lovely smile', 'magical power' and 'adorable accent' as I walked past."

Emrys grinned smugly, then smiled at Miriel who had raised an eyebrow at him and said, "I'm flattered by the attention, Professor, but I'm spoken for."

"I can see," she said dryly. "Oh, and Miss Ap Derfel, your casting of the Portus charm was spot on. Professor Flitwick was most impressed."

Eirian blushed at the praise and smiled. "Thank you Professor. Please pass on my thanks for the compliment."

"I shall," Professor McGonagall said, rolling her eyes at Maglor as he winked suggestively at her. "_No_, Maglor," she said firmly. "Once was enough."

Everyone stared at Maglor as she left.

"What?" he said.

"You. And McGonagall," Ron said flatly.

"Minerva is like a fine wine. She only improves with age," Maglor said serenely. He would have said more, before Eirian interjected.

"Please, no details," she said.

"Seconded, Harry muttered in heartfelt agreement as he walked through the fire, followed by Ginny.

"Motion carried," finished Hermione.

"Spoilsports," Maglor complained.

Harry then glared at three smirking architects of his and Ginny's impromptu Hogwarts visit. But said nothing. He'd earned it. The same could not be said of Ginny.

"Emrys, Eirian and Miriel," Ginny said softly, with frigid calm. All three gulped. Harry was scary when he was angry. Ginny was terrifying. "_Why _exactly did you drop me and Harry in the Lake?"

"He set Emrys and I up to be caught… kissing in the shed by Eirian," Miriel said, blushing slightly.

Ginny's head swivelled like the gun turret on a Challenger tank, pointing at Harry, who raised his hands in defence.

"Ron was the one who locked them in there in the first place," he said quickly, shifting the blame.

The gun turret glare moved to Ron, who shifted his feet nervously. "Ronald Bilious Weasley," Ginny said, voice cold and deadly. "Why did you lock them in the shed?"

Ron gulped as a cold sweat developed. "Well Gin, Maglor suggested that I do it so they could work out some issues."

Everyone turned to look at the space that very conspicuously no longer contained Maglor. Ginny turned to look at all five of those she admonished. They wilted under her glare.

"I am going to find Maglor and kick his arse," Ginny said calmly. "You will _all _behave nicely while I am gone. _Is that clear?_"

"Yes Ginny," they chorused hurriedly. Ginny swept out.

"She is so like mum sometimes that it's frightening," Ron commented shakily. Then he gulped as his mother narrowed her eyes at him.

"It was like being in the presence of one of the Nine," Hermione said smirking at her husband's terror.

"The Witch King of Angmar wishes he was that scary," Harry said faintly. "The Patronus charm doesn't work on her. It did on him. Ergo, she is more terrifying."

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said, "While Ginny's off hunting Maglor, I want to talk to you about the reception."

Everyone muffled laughter as Harry looked absolutely horrified and started looking for an escape route.

"And the rings," Mrs Weasley blithely continued. "I'm a little puzzled. Why are they silver, dear, not gold?"

Harry smiled. "They're not normal silver. They're made of something called Mithril, or 'true silver'. It is to silver what gold is to brass," he replied. Then his face darkened. "And when we were in Middle Earth… the One Ring was a simple gold band. You could say that I have more than a few unpleasant associations with gold rings after spending several months in close proximity to an evil one that was messing with the heads of I and my friends."

"Oh," Mrs Weasley said, blinking. "I see."

Harry smirked. "It does help that Mithril is the next best thing to indestructible –"

"So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are anything along the lines of 'just like our love', I will smack you about the head for excessive sappiness," Emrys warned. Harry glowered at him briefly.

"Seconded," Eirian said, earning a glower of her own.

"Motion carried," Ron said, earning another glower.

"Oh, by the way," Mr Weasley said, pulling out a new, dark blue bra from his pocket. "I found this in the shed. Anyone care to explain?" he asked, lips twitching in amusement.

Emrys and Miriel both blushed crimson red in unison, and Eirian and Ron started snickering helplessly.

Sirius walked in and stared at the dangling bra. "Arthur mate," he said slowly. "Hate to disappoint you, but that doesn't look like your size. And the colour is all wrong for you."

"Since when were you an expert on bras?" Ron asked.

Sirius grinned and opened his mouth. Harry interrupted him. "Ron, it's best if you just don't ask questions that you don't want to know the answers to. Especially if the rest of us don't want the answers either."

"I remember picking that one out," Ginny said, glancing at Miriel. "It suits her very nicely."

Emrys nodded vigorously, then blushed as everyone started snickering at him.

"I think Emrys likes it on, but prefers it off," Harry teased.

Emrys blushed even further. Miriel snuggled onto his lap.

"You realise that she isn't wearing a bra right now?" Sirius asked, in a well-practiced tone of apparent innocence and total shit stirring.

Emrys attained tones of red previously unseen on the human face.

Miriel made a purring noise and straddled him. She smirked. "He knows," she said, smirking. "And he's enjoying it." She rolled her hips slightly. Emrys squeaked.

"I didn't know they made them so forward in Gondor," Mrs Weasley said in surprise. "I always thought it was very mediaeval."

"She is among friends who aren't minded to care, so she is more relaxed about such things," Maglor said quietly, having snuck back in. "And not only is she serious about him – for all that he may have difficulty seeing it – and she sees that it makes him do amusing things, she has also taken to the culture of this world like a duck to water." He chuckled. "Many in Gondor would be scandalised by such behaviour. But the Lady Miriel seems to be quite the exception to most rules."

He suddenly frowned as Miriel leaned in and nuzzled Emrys' jaw. "Oh dear," he said quietly, as Emrys' expression changed. He abruptly stood up, plonked Miriel down, then left in a blur, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

"Emrys?" Miriel asked, simultaneously hurt and puzzled, making to follow him. Hermione stopped her.

"Give him some time," she said quietly.

"But –"

"You're going too fast. Right now, that boy doesn't really know which way is up," Hermione said gently. "You're scaring him."

"_Scaring_ him?"

"He's scared you're going to use him then drop him like a toy you've got bored of," Maglor said.

"What? How could he –"

"Very easily. Miriel, aside from his sister," Maglor said, gesturing at Eirian, who was staying studiously silent. "He's never had anyone love him. He's barely had any friends. He's barely ever had truly close contact with someone other than her who wasn't looking to hurt him, one way or another. And most nobles would do exactly that – pick a pretty commoner off the streets, carry on with them for a while, then drop them when they got bored." Miriel opened her mouth to protest, then closed it.

"It does happen, often even," she admitted, but when she looked up, her eyes were fiery. "But not with me," she snapped. "_Never _with me."

"I'm sure it doesn't. We know that," Maglor said, voice calm and reasonable. "You know that. Emrys probably knows it, intellectually. But he still has a nagging fear, deep down, that you'll use him and lose him. All he's really known before is disappointment. What makes it worse is that he is far less worldly than you are. Before the War of the Ring, all he knew was his little village in Dunland. Now he's been thrown into two worlds much bigger than anything he ever imagined."

"Why is that?" Mrs Weasley asked quietly.

"He's half Dunlending, half Rohirric," Maglor said grimly. "While things are improving now, not so long ago Dunlendings and Rohirrim generally regarded each other the same way wizards like Lucius Malfoy used to regard werewolves, and little better than most of the Free Peoples regard orcs. You see, the Dunlendings were displaced around seven hundred years ago from the rich lands of what was then Calenardhon, now Rohan. They were consigned to the relatively poor lands of modern Dunland by the ancestors of the Rohirrim, who regarded them as lesser. The Dunlendings came to hate the Rohirrim and the two have raided back and forth ever since. But despite the peace agreements after the War of the Ring, the Dunlendings persist in calling Rohan, Lloegyr, their 'lost lands'. Neither side forgets."

Eirian took up the narrative. "It was on one of these raids our mother was taken. She and my father fell in love, and you can guess what happened next. But many regarded her as alien and something beneath them. Emrys' most common childhood nickname was 'half-breed', closely followed by 'son of a bitch'." She sighed. "After my father died, I did what I could to mitigate it… but I was barely able to make sure that when someone broke his bones, it didn't go bad, what with having to worry about keeping us both fed and watered. As for myself… well, men generally looked at my looks first and my heritage second. That was an advantage at times and a curse at others."

Mrs Weasley gasped. "The poor boy," she whispered.

"The Fellowship were the first real friends he had, the first ones who didn't care about whether he was half Dunlending or what," she continued quietly. She looked at Harry. "He looks up to you, you know. He sees as the big brother he never had." She smiled crookedly as Harry blinked in surprise. "It helps that if your hair and eyes were just a little lighter, you could be part of the family."

"Suppose I could," Harry said, shrugging in mild amusement. "Shall I go and find him?" he asked.

Maglor shook his head as Eirian stood. "I will. He needs a friend right now, someone male to vent at who can give him the needed advice. And not wanting to sound arrogant, but that's me," Maglor said, leaving.

"It's astonishing how he can change, isn't it?" Sirius said. "One moment, he's a mad, cackling prankster, the next a charming ladies' man, the next a wise old sage."

"It's because he's all three. He's a man who wears many masks," Hermione observed.

"And he's bloody mental. What? It's true," Ron said, dodging a swipe from Hermione.

"It's completely tactless, Ronald," Hermione hissed.

"But you don't deny he's right," Harry said. "Maglor's nuts. But the same nuts as I am. As nuts as anyone who survived a war and lost people they cared about. He lost more than most. We all cope in our ways." His words had a certain finality about them.

"Very true, Harry," Mr Weasley said quietly. "Very true indeed."

Ginny walked in and huffed a sigh. "Has anyone seen Maglor?"

"Emrys is having an emotional crisis, Maglor's helping him work through it," Harry said. "We'd appreciate it if you delayed his well-deserved hexing."

"Emotional crisis?"

"Insecurity. He's having trouble getting over the fear that Miriel might get bored of him and leave him," Harry said.

"That's stupid," Ginny said.

"We know that. He's still trying to get it into his head. Aside from Eirian, us, Theodred, Eomer and the Fellowship, he's never really had people who care about him. He keeps expecting people to let him down," Harry said. "He's been burned often enough that he's having trouble opening up."

"You manage it," Ginny pointed out.

"Emrys is not me," Harry replied. "And he has had a harder life than I have. He never had Hogwarts, he never really had family and friends like this, Eirian aside." He smiled sourly. "Besides. I shut myself off from the world for a good four years in Middle Earth. Only Aragorn could really reach me, him and Theodred. Then Boromir, of course. He and the rest of the Fellowship helped me open up again. But sometimes, it just feels easier to hide. And once that starts, it's hard to stop. Especially when you have difficulties feeling that people actually want you for who you really are, not just what your name is and what you've done. Right now, Miriel's done a fine job of coaxing him out of his shell and getting him to open up, but that… that scared him." He glanced at Miriel. "Maglor was right. You pushed him too far, too fast."

Ron whistled. "That's… pretty impressive analysis."

Harry smiled slightly. "Not really. It's just that looking at Emrys is sometimes just like looking in a mirror."

Miriel looked like there were tears gathering in her eyes. "I… I was just…" she began, looking vulnerable for a change.

"We know," Eirian said gently. "But Emrys is new to the game you're playing. Give him time."

Miriel nodded slowly, cuffing away the tears in her eyes.

"Relationships can be a real bitch at times," Ginny said, slipping an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. Sometimes, she thought, it was very easy to forget that Miriel, with her cool confidence, poise, temper and wit, was only eighteen years old.

"Ginevra Weasley!"

"Sorry. But it's true," she said, getting nods from everyone in the room.

There was silence. Then George cleared his throat. "Well, isn't this wonderfully depressing. Aren't we supposed to be preparing for a wedding?"

Mrs Weasley jumped and nodded. "Why yes, of course, thank you George dear," she said, turning on Harry, who quailed. "Harry, we need to fit you for the Groom's robes. Then there's the menu to confirm, the reception to arrange…"

Harry whimpered. His expression suggested horrors uncounted were about to be visited on him. The rest did what any true friends would: crack up laughing at his expense.

**To explain, Emrys is quite happy to kiss and fool around with Miriel, and he, like almost any red blooded teenager, wants to jump his beloved's bones so very badly. If his hormones got away from him, he would. But he overthinks things, and gets scared that he's just a boy-toy to her (he isn't. He really isn't). Irrational, yes, but he has much trust not to really trust anyone and even more reason to wonder why the hell someone like Miriel (well bred, clever, beautiful, talented, witty, second in line after her father to inherit one of the most powerful lordships in Gondor after Dol Amroth and therefore likely expected to make a politically advantageous marriage) would want with someone like him (uncultured, scruffy, ill bred, semi-educated, unworldly, strange and generally ill-regarded by his peers). As Hermione said, he's young. He's seventeen, turning eighteen. His world has been turned upside down in the last year or so. He's changed. Big time. He's still finding his feet, and he isn't really ready to play the flirty, sexy game that Miriel is.**


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